Whistleblower: Obliterating the Deep State, #2

By Jason Walker

Former S.A.S. Super soldier - Darren Mathews is done waiting for Trump to provide the world with full disclosure. He's decided that it's time for the truth to come out but will people wake up in time before the Deep State and the Shadow Government make their move to collapse the United States?   

 

He knows from his wife's murder that being a Whistleblower comes with a high price to pay, but the Cabal will soon learn that there's no greater enemy than a man who's prepared to lose everything for what they believe in. How will the Hidden Hand deal with such a person if they were to go public and reveal what they knew about UFO's and man made antigravity craft? Who would come out on top if that happened? Darren plans to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mr. F. McLeod
• Release date: Jun 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393743149

Jason Walker

Born in the mountains of Western North Carolina, the author began his career in Radio Broadcasting in the late 1970s. Having traveled the country, he has now, inexplicably, landed back in the town of his birth. Writing full time and producing audio and video promotional products for authors takes up his days and enjoying his life fills all the moments in between. Active in social media, he welcomes any opportunity to interact with his readers and sincerely believes that there is no such thing as negative feedback. Something can be learned from the opinions of others, even if that opinion is less than glowing. You are encouraged to contact him via email, social media or through his website. And as always, he thanks you for taking the time to read his words. He hopes you enjoy them.

Book preview

Prologue

Darren’s Rental Accommodation

Oregon

December 31st, 2017, USA, 11 A.M.

A middle-aged man sat in a folding chair, a camera mounted on a tripod in front of him. The lighting that surrounded him was bright enough to barely reveal his form, concealing his location. His flannel pajama bottoms clashed with his army boots and the black shirt hanging loose around his lean, muscular frame, but the camera could only see him from the torso and up. He stared straight into the camera, his dark eyes glowing with the intensity of a man on a mission, a man with nothing left to lose.

My name is Darren Mathews, he began, "and if you’re watching this, I’m probably dead. What I have to say, the world needs to hear so get ready. Let me begin by telling you that there are forces at work that want to depopulate the planet and convert it into a new world order. It’s time people knew the truth about all of it so their plans can be stopped.

He paused. His fists clenched over his armrests. "I spent four years in the Royal Australian Regiment followed by six years in the Special Air Service. After that, I was ‘coerced’ to go to work for a company that nobody’s ever heard of before known as the Orange Corporation, which was managed closely by a certain American three-letter agency.

There’s so many of them. People like Obama, the Clintons, The Pope, Karl von Hasburg, Queen Beatrix, Klaus Schwab and countless other VIP’s around the world who have been hiding in the shadows, even at the Vatican, in rich estates in the country, and in the high levels of Freemasonry all over the world. All of them pulling strings, covering up things that will haunt your dreams and make your skin crawl. These people are all members of secret societies that have murdered countless numbers of people who have tried to come forward since the 1950’s and some like Dr. Michael Salla say even earlier than that. The nightmarish truth has been hidden from you for decades. There are so many of the elites that are involved in multiple plans to collapse all first world countries around the world so no one will be able to escape what they have planned. Those that survive the depopulation agenda will live a life of slavery. Nobody will own anything. That’s what they want to manifest and they will unless we manifest something different.

He stared down at his lap, clenching and unclenching his fists as his mind wandered. Then he looked up at the camera, staring so deeply into it that one would think he could see right into the viewers’ souls.

It’s time you all knew the reality that I know about.

Chapter One

First Contact

Starbucks

New York City

January 3rd, 2018, 3 P.M.

The Starbucks was hopping and crowded, as usual. Sports college students did everything they could to forget about upcoming assignments and enjoy their lives. Laughter and animated conversations filled the room. Young men and women waited in line and gave their orders to baristas, some chatting them up at the counter and others simply paying for their drinks and moving to wait at the other counter. Some customers sat at the tables and booths in intimate groups and swapped the latest gossip or entered the latest political debates; others sat by themselves and hid their faces behind textbooks and laptops, the studious and antisocial nearly indistinguishable. Most were probably both.

One such customer was twenty-four-year-old James DeBruin, who had abandoned his almond-milk mocha to turn his full attention to a heated argument with another user on the UFO Watcher’s Forum. Even as his brow crinkled in concentration, a frown tugged at the corners of his lips. He was sure to win this debate, just as he had won all the others—at least, in his mind—but some people’s ignorance and unwillingness to accept the truth...

His frown disappeared as he read the next response from the user called Bloodied-lips, replaced by a sardonic smile. That taken in with his wild hair, wide eyes, and disheveled clothes would be enough to make any passerby deem him insane. Scrawny and pale, he also looked as though he had never been away from electronics for more than an hour at any time.

On the screen he typed:

The_Bear: Open your eyes, people; the world was lying to us all. It’s not just the U.S. Every first-world country on the planet was keeping every one of us in check.

Bloodied-lips replied: You sound insane. There isn’t some global conspiracy. You just wish there was, you idiot.

James rolled his eyes. He was used to these sorts of stubborn assholes, trolls with nothing better to do than to stir up some cyber trouble instead of having a real conversation.

The_Bear: And YOU have drank the Kool-Aid! Google it. Look on the dark web. The truth is there. You’re all just ignoring it. Look at my site! I’ve compiled everything I can, and sooner or later, they’re going to shut me down.

Bloodied-lips: You’re—

But before Bloodied-lips’ reply could come through, James' attention was diverted by a different bloop as a private message popped up in a second window. His eyes flicked over to it even as he continued to type out a pre-planned response to whatever dribble Bloodied-lips was about to shoot back at him.

Anon81: You’re on the right trail. Don’t stop.

James stopped typing mid-sentence and switched over to the private message. Slowly he leaned toward his laptop as he continued to read the message.

Anon81: I’ve been watching you.

James' eyes grew even wider. His head darted about, searching for hidden cameras or spies he wouldn’t find, as his heart thumped so hard against his ribcage that he feared it would burst. His gaze settled back to his laptop and focused on the pinprick-sized webcam. He narrowed his eyes at it for a moment then shook his head and returned to the message.

He responded: Who is this?

A long stretch of inactivity followed. James' throat went dry, but he was too anxious to reach for his drink. Just as he started to think that it was just a prankster—it wouldn’t be the first time and, unlike the other times, it might actually be a relief now—a new message appeared.

Anon81: It’s time we met. I’ll be in touch.

And with that, the conversation was severed with CHAT ENDED. USER DISCONNECTED.

James stared at the message, re-reading it several times before his eyes finally settled on the words USER DISCONNECTED. Arms crossed over his chest and his eyes never leaving the screen, he swallowed against his painfully dry throat.

Forest Road

Oregon

February 2nd, 2018, 10 A.M.

A beautiful forest landscape stretched for miles, lush trees rolling up and down the Rocky Mountains in dark green waves. Rivers cut between the trees, snaking their way through the land and flowing steadily from the spring thaw. Snow-capped mountain peaks lined the horizon. Amid all the powerful, natural beauty Oregon had to offer, a lone vehicle drove up the thin mountain road.

In the back seat of the van, James jerked awake, inadvertently kicking the luggage resting at his feet. The driver, a Native American in his forties, stole a look at the rearview mirror before turning his attention back to the road.

How much longer? James asked.

Not far, the driver, Peter George, replied.

James wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked out the window. Jeez, this was off-grid, isn’t it?

Yeah. There’s the Burns Paiute land just south of here. Closest town was about an hour back.

Bet service blows out here.

Peter laughed. That’s the point, isn’t it?

James cracked a grin. Yeah, you’ve got that right.

Awkward silence fell. James continued to stare out the window, stretches of trees and the paved road rushing by without registering in his distracted mind. This really was the middle of nowhere. What had he gotten himself into? He had heard all the stories about meeting people from the internet in real life, people being mugged or worse. And then, there were the stories about men in black, men from the government, going after people like him. How else would that guy have been watching him? Silencing those who spoke the truth was the U.S. government’s specialty—the specialty of any first-world government.

You run a website, right?

James jolted away from the window, startled by Peter’s question. "Yeah. UFO Watchers." James watched through the rearview mirror as Peter’s eyebrows raised in amusement.

That how you know Darren? Peter could hardly suppress the laughter in his voice.

Something like that. He’s sort of a fan of mine, James said.

This time Peter outright chuckled. Yeah. Fan. I bet he is.

James scowled. Why do you say that?

Darren’s an interesting guy with some very interesting ideas on how the world works.

He knows the truth. James' eyes narrowed at the mirror. He looked back out the window. And so do I.

Peter waved his hand in James' direction. Hey, I’m not making fun. I’ve seen some of the things Darren had talked about. There’s a lot of weird shit out there. He paused, waiting for a response from James, but none came. It’s just hard to believe everything sometimes. Darren gets fired up talking faster than his thoughts can keep up, making less and less sense.

James shrugged with a self-assured smirk. Some people just aren’t ready for the truth.

Peter raised his brow and exhaled through his nose. Guess not.

Uncomfortable silence returned, and James shifted his attention back out the window. Still nothing but trees and dirt and the paved road ran beneath them.

Darren’s a good man, Peter continued, more to himself than anyone else. We served together. I was Special Forces too. A little co-country work. That was a damn long time ago. Many Middle Eastern regime changes ago. But he’s always been loyal, and I’d trust him with my life.

He stopped for a moment and stared at James until the younger man was forced to look back at him. Their eyes met, and Peter held this gaze as Peter spoke again, Don’t push him.

I don’t plan to. He reached out to me.

Peter turned back to the road with an absent-minded nod. Good, because I’ll be honest, he’s never had a guest before.

James' eyes snapped back to Peter’s reflection in the mirror. Really?

Yup.

James considered that and leaned his head against the window. Tree after tree flashed by; occasionally, he shifted his gaze up to the severe-clear sky just to get a change in scenery. He could feel Peter continue to steal glances at him, but he tried his best to ignore the man. Who cares about the dude dropping me off, James thought. His mind was too busy wondering what all this could mean. Exactly what kind of person had he agreed to work with? The only thought he had regarding Peter was that at least there was one person who could serve as a witness to where he was last seen, if he happened to go missing.

The van took a turn off the paved road and soon went onto a wooden bridge. The bridge eventually turned into an uneven dirt road, a crystal-clear river rushing below it to nurture the plentiful forest. The bumpy road jostled James, forcing the young man to grab a tight hold of the door handle, and Peter couldn’t help but smirk at his discomfort.

James' eyes widened as the forest morphed from a cluster of younger trees into a mass of towering, ancient evergreens. As the road thinned, the trees grew larger and larger, a testimony to the rare occasion in which man had not interfered with nature’s grand design. Along the ridge, a meadow bathed in warm sunlight, almost shining like the jewel that it was, hidden among the icy mountains.

James watched this beauty unfold, completely awestruck. This was certainly a view you didn’t get in the city or when you plopped yourself in front of a computer screen all day. It was almost enough to make him forget his nerves and the fact that he had no clue what he was actually going to face when they stopped.

The van approached a fork in the road. Without hesitation, Peter took them down the smaller path, one that, much to James' chagrin, was even bumpier than the last. The sky above them disappeared as the forest thickened. The serenity that had possessed James moments before, was suddenly overcome by a sense of foreboding. He found himself seeing faces in the trees and menacing shadows looming in the wilderness surrounding them. He knew they were complete figments of his imagination, but that didn’t keep him from longing to run from them like Snow White in the Disney film. At that thought, James snort-laughed at himself. It never ceased to amaze him just how early the brainwashing began.

Here we go. This is your stop, Peter said.

James looked forward and observed that the van had come to a stop in front of a gated entrance. Behind the gate ran a long driveway, but he could see no building or structure of any sort from the road. Peter had twisted in his seat to look over his shoulder at James, and the young man’s perplexed expression did not escape his notice.

This? James asked, his head darting about.

Huh?

"Darren lives here?"

His home’s a bit back in the woods, but yeah, this is the place.

James swallowed against the dry knot forming in his throat. He slung his bag over his shoulder, stepped out of the van, and looked around again. Still no buildings in sight or any signs of life. Even the birds and other forms of wildlife seemed to avoid this place. James might not be a woodsman, but even he suspected this wasn’t normal.

James turned back to Peter, who had rolled down the driver’s side window of the van. He leaned out, watching James.

What do I do? James asked.

Peter pointed at the gate where a buzzer had been mounted to a wooden pole. "Get your buzz on." Peter put the car in gear and prepared to leave.

You’re not going to make sure I get in?

Peter flashed James a reassuring smile. You’ll be fine, kid.

With that, the van pirouetted a three-point turn and took off back the way they came. James followed Peter’s van with his eyes before taking in his new surroundings. So quaint, so quiet, so rustic, so much like the setting of nearly every pop culture horror film ever. He shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts. Don’t drink the Kool-Aid, he told himself. Don’t do it. Those movies are just the government’s way of making us fear going off the grid.

Instinctively, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. No signal. Of course not. He sighed and shook his head again. Not exactly the best situation for someone who was only there because he ran a website—

Take the battery and SIM card out of your phone. Now!

The command startled James and he jumped. He frantically searched for the source of the voice before realizing that it had to come from the buzzer. His heart still pounding in his throat, he attempted a calming breath and walked to the gate. Hello?

Your phone. Take it apart. Now.

James fumbled with his phone in his haste to obey the gruff, crackling voice. He removed the battery and SIM card and stuffed all the parts, still separated, into his pocket. He looked at the gate expectantly, hoping that doing as the voice said would allow him entry, but nothing happened.

Um, hello? I’m James DeBruin. Mr. Mathews?

Do you have any other electronic devices in your possession? Laptop? Tablet?

I—yes, I have my laptop—

Remove the battery.

It’s turned off—

Remove the battery, now. Please, mate.

James kneeled, occasionally glancing up at the gate, and pulled his laptop out of his bag. He removed the battery and stuffed everything back into his bag before standing. His eyes fixed on the buzzer, waiting. That’s everything, he finally said when nothing else came over the speaker.

For a long while, the voice didn’t say anything, and just as the quiet was about to drive James over the edge, the voice returned, Come up the driveway. Don’t step onto the porch.

I’m sorry, what?

The buzzer clicked off. James stared at it, dumbfounded. Mr. Mathews?

Nothing.